The Wicked Flame
by Fearless Fault
Summary: <html><head></head>Many are those who say they'd do anything in the name of love. But passion can wear many faces and atrocities can be done in its name as easily as any other. So tell me, do you know where the line between fascination and fixation falls? When you do not just covet company but crave control? (An Ondolemar centered fic.) Latest chapter: Avarice. Next chapter: Envy.</html>
1. Hubris: Tinder to Flint

Inspired by a SKM prompt and the song "Hellfire" from Disney's version of the hunchback of Notre Dame. (Which; by the way, is now forever lodged in my brain along with 'The court of miracles" thanks to youtube). This story is not canon with my other Skyrim stories and the DB in this is not the same one I normally use. This is just a bit of weird "wonder if I can pull that off adequately" if that makes any sense. This will probably only be eight chapters long so it should be completed soon-ish. (Fingers crossed.)

Anyway, **WARNINGS** are as follows: Creepiness, dub-con/non-con in later chapters, and of course the best reason for an M rating which will also come later. Please review because it's greatly appreciated and feedback is fabulously fantastic when I'm trying something new.

**And a Big thank you** to DragonsDeadAndDancing for helping to make this easier on your eyes. (A.k.a fixing errors.)

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><p>Markarth, a city of stone and ugly faces. Where weeds wove their way through cracks and every narrow step was slick with moss and moisture. Little more than a maze of vertigo inducing paths cut into the same slate grey rock that composed every dreary building in sight. Ondolemar had began to lose track of the days he'd been stationed in that tomb of a town, every bleak dawn smearing seamlessly into the next and every dirty dusk just as uneventful. The city seemed like its own little plain of Oblivion, cut off from time and everything that made life worth living with he as its favorite trapped soul.<p>

For the city never seemed to change, a trait Ondolemar found himself steadily adapting as each day slid by. He would wake an hour before dawn, wash away the last dregs of sleep with a quick bath and then don his Justiciar robes before patrolling for the rest of the day. And although waking had become something of a daily struggle nothing could keep him from his sacred duties. For his was a mission of faith, the holiest of callings: dragging heretics of the farcical god into the light by sheer force and will.

The city was rife with the taint of Talos, of that Ondolemar was sure. Man's greatest offense to his obvious superiors was still muttered in prayer whenever the Justiciar was out of earshot. Tiny talismans strung on chains and hidden beneath layers of filth streaked clothing, gestures of hand and mouthed rhymes when they thought he could not see them, it sickened Ondolemar in more ways than he could adequately describe. To him the people of Markarth were worthless and pathetic, sniveling cowards too stubborn to give up their erroneous ways and too craven to pit their wills and faith against his and his people's own.

That day began as any other, he washed, he dressed, he ate with his subordinates and then began his ceaseless patrols of Understone Keep as well as the city beyond its doors. But it was to be a day that would sear itself into his mind with all the heat and affliction of a branding iron. He had been passing just outside of the mournful throne, his thoughts having wandered back to the beauty and warmth of his homeland rather than focusing on the path he had traveled thousands of times. And suddenly _she_ was directly in his path, an obstacle he had failed to notice before it was too late to avoid collision.

She came with no warning, one moment the way was clear and the next his balance was compromised and he was falling to the hard stones beneath his boots. The briefest glimpse of cobalt blue eyes in a sun kissed face were the first things to stain his memory before his soldiers were pulling him hastily to his feet once more. He was confused at first, the jostle of the fall forcing his focus so suddenly that his thoughts were slow to make sense of what had happened. However by the time she had collected herself and was jabbing a finger into his chest Ondolemar's mind had been washed clean of confusion and embarrassed agitation had flooding into place.

"Would it be too much for you to actually watch where you're walking?" she spat, invading his personal space until her face filled his entire view. "I know it's tough, yeh? Walking around with your nose in the air and all." She was only an inch or so shorter than he, of nordic descent of that he was positive given the blonde hair framing her face and the color of her skin beneath the tan and dusting of pale freckles. A fact that only made his blood boil further as it flushed into his golden hued face.

_'How dare she touch me,'_ his thoughts seethed, his bruised pride prickling even as he bristled visibly beneath his heavy robes.

"Keep your hands to yourself, girl, you are in the presence of the Thalmor and such offenses will not be tolerated." He smacked her hand away as if to drive home the thinly veiled threat but this wench in front of him merely scoffed, refusing to be cowed.

Her hands danced through the air, splaying time and time again as she spoke before finally settling on the generous curve of her armored hip.

"Someone is touchy I see. Though where do you get off threatening me? Would you have fallen over if you'd been looking where you were going? No, I think not, so really you should be apologizing if anything." She must have seen the tempest brewing behind his eyes as his lips twisted into a disbelieving and angry snarl for she added, "Oh nevermind, I have better things to do today than try to get water from a stone." And with that she left just as swiftly as she had interrupted. Ondolemar was left to stare after her defiant backside with his teeth grinding and his entire being shivering with unrealized violence.

_'How dare she… how dare she act so flippant, so arrogant, so… so..._' He couldn't even think of a word to adequately describe it. The entire affair had only taken a handful of moments and yet it had managed to do something the rest of the city never had. For the first time in a long time Ondolemar actually felt something, and although none of the emotions running beneath his skin would be appropriate to display in front of polite company it was still something. And something was far more agreeable than the nothing that had been the moments leading up to that encounter.

"Cirion, I want you to find out everything you can about that woman and give me the full report by the time I take my evening meal. Is that understood?" He didn't bother turning to see if the mer to his right was listening or not, his gaze fixed to where the infuriating woman had disappeared through the keep's doors. There was no need to double check, after all his subordinates had learned long ago that his every word was to be followed to the letter… anything less than that was simply unacceptable.

"Yes sir, understood sir."

Ondolemar dismissed Cirion with a wave before retiring to his rooms early to mull over the beehive of thoughts in his skull. He wasn't sure what he planned to do about the insolent and inferior woman who had dared to earn his attention but he was positive something needed to be done and he would not rest until it had been.


	2. Lust: A Kiss to Build a Dream On

**A/N: **So fair warning this chapter may be initially confusing to some because of the time skips inbetween sections. It also may come across as sugary sweet fluff in places. But keep in mind it is supposed to take place over a series of months with sections being from different days and recounting different encounters the two have with each other. And I assure you it may be sugary in places but there's a method to my madness and a point to this chapter.

**And** another round of appreciation and love for DragonsDeadAndDancing, (also go check out their stories, they're fantastic.)

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><p><strong>Lorelei the Curse-Bringer,<strong> it was just a name and yet in the weeks that followed their first meeting it had come to mean so many conflicting things to Ondolemar. The report Cirion had delivered that night had only been a fraction of what apparently there was to know about the one they called dragonborn. Albeit Ondolemar couldn't fathom how someone, who was clearly not a scaled abomination, could be born from a dragon but if her temper was any indication she might very well have been able to spit fire at least.

They said she was capable of taking out entire Forsworn camps on her own, that she slew giants regularly and had carved her armor from the very hide of the dragons she conquered. A hero of sorts to her stubborn people, some long foretold legend come to shake the world with her voice. Ondolemar however was not so gullible as the common rabble. True she seemed capable enough to do some of the things they claimed she had done, but there were a few that seemed in a word... unlikely. Still if there was truth to be gleaned from these tales he would have been a fool to ignore it entirely. So instead he had taken some time to listen to each rumor concerning her, gold straight from his own coffers plying more than a fair few of them from stubborn Nord lips. Though each new one that cropped up seem just as ridiculous and farcical as the last much to his frustration. For still the truth of who she was eluded him, an enigma that was slipping steadily beneath his skin. And each encounter only furthered that growing affliction.

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><p>He had been lingering on the covered path that jutted off from the steps leading to the temple of Dibella, enjoying a reprieve and well deserved glass of alto wine. His subordinates were off running errands, collecting his correspondence and likely lollygagging but at that moment he couldn't be bothered to be annoyed at them. The wine in his hands was heady and aged to perfection, the aroma of which brought an unbidden sigh to his lips as he swirled the scarlet liquid and watched the light of the brazier glimmer along its smooth surface. Instances such as this were a rarity for the Justiciar, where no one was demanding something from him or wasting his time with their stupidity. With the taste of grape on his tongue and alcohol warming his blood he could almost forget how much he detested the city beneath him. Almost.<p>

Leaning his robed elbows against the carved masonry Ondolemar watched the figures scurrying below. The jewelry makers leading their little girl by the hand, the miners with the rhythm of their work pounded out to the tempo of the foreman's tapping foot, the Markarth guard roving about in lazy and meaningless circles. All of it so far below, so miniscule and mindless. His shoulders slumped, his mood souring by each unwelcomed thought and realization.

Ondolemar averted his eyes elsewhere, searching for something… anything that wasn't made of miserable grey stone or a reminder of how much he loathed this country. They landed after a time on the open sided hovel that served as the city's smithy. He had no interest in Ghorza or her incompetent Imperial assistant, neither were foolish enough to worship the false god and further still he had no reason to even acknowledge their existence most of the time. But it was not they who had captured his attention, not they who stood just under the lip of the slanted roof at the corner closest to him.

He couldn't tell what Lorelei was looking at as she stood there in full armor, staring upwards with her hand shielding her eyes.

_'Perhaps it is nothing,'_ he reasoned while pouring himself another glass. After all the skies were clear for once, and regardless of how much he detested Skyrim, its sky was something of a wonder at times. But her pose was angled and intent as though she were looking at something rather than simply into the distance he observed. A theory that was soon confirmed when she raised her other hand and gave a cheerful wave in his direction of all places. His first impulse was to ignore, it but the more he did so the more adamant her waving became. Seeing Lorelei practically bounce enthusiastically waving in such a vigorous show made some unrecognized feeling prickle his stomach and flush just under his skin. And when he could take no more and raised his glass in acknowledgement; if only to make her cease such a display he reasoned, he was rewarded with a wide, if barely visible from that distance, smile.

He couldn't have recounted, if asked, how long that moment lasted. For it seemed to both idle, and yet vanish all too suddenly simultaneously. She had pivoted on a heel and walked from sight, likely back to whatever business she'd had with the blacksmith in the first place. No hint of what the last few moments had meant nor what she had wanted beside his attention, just a wave, a smile and then nothing.

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><p><em><strong>A month or so later...<strong>_

It was late and Ondolemar's steps were careless and hurried. He'd lost track of the time and the sun had already set, the shadow of night trickling over the sky like upset ink as he and his underlings made their way along the path. He was just passing Nepos' house, breathless from climbing one too many steps and looking forward to quaffing more than a healthy amount of wine once he reached his quarters. All the same there was an element of relief in his stride, having finally made some headway in his attempts to root out Talos worship in the Reach. Perhaps some good news in his report would keep the First Emissary from breathing down his neck for a time. Probably a slim possibility but he could always hope, could he not?

He then reached the place where the path veered away from the rockface to allow a waterfall to plummet downward unhindered. The subsequent mist coming off of it however had soaked everything in existence for at least several feet in all directions including the air itself. It lowered visibility something awful especially in the evenings and collected in places where it was certainly not appreciated every time he had to pass that way. Most days he went out of his way to avoid taking this route back to Understone Keep. But time was of the essence that evening and Ondolemar wasn't made of moon-sugar; a little water, while annoying, would not harm him or the two soldiers behind him.

Ondolemar stepped out on to that narrow bridge with its slippery stones and almost headlong into another being. He hadn't even seen her coming and neither had she seen him nor his guards, it was only her honed reflexes that saved them from once more toppling into each other. For Lorelei had swerved at the last second, throwing her weight to the right as she moved around him with what should have been practiced ease. However the terrain was not ideal and no matter how good her footwork was it was all for not where water and worn stone were concerned.

Her foot hit the raised edge of the bridge just as her off balanced weight threatened to pitch her head over boots and down to the path far below. The startled yelp she had given when the feeling of falling brought panic rushing along her nerves was all it took to spur the surprised Justiciar into action. His own reflexes were surprisingly cat like, lunging for whatever part of her he could grasp the quickest. A jerk and the snap of leather being pulled taught made him wince as he had to brace himself more than he'd really been prepared for.

_'How much armor is she wearing to be this bloody heavy?'_ his inner voice muttered even though the timing for such thoughts was likely inappropriate and certainly would have earned him a slap if said thought had been uttered outloud.

The catch had not been exactly graceful but it hardly mattered as his fingers latched on to the bend of her elbow and the belt that held her sword strapped to her hip as tightly as he could with water slicked gloves. Stunned that he actually managed it and silently thanking the eight that he had, he pulled her back to relative safety with more effort than he cared to admit. She clung to his outstretched arms like the life line they were every inch of the way.

"Are you alright Justiciar?" Cirion might have been a fine enough soldier, but the young Altmer could be remarkably slow at times and his generally silent companion equally as daft.

"Do you have any idea how idiotic that question even is? Do yourself a favor Cirion and be quiet," Ondolemar said tersely, it was bad enough to be stationed in skyrim… but 'the help' he'd been assigned were often anything but helpful most days. With Cirion successfully cowed and hushed for the moment Ondolemar turned his attention to the still tense dragonborn. "Are you unharmed?" He surprised himself with the sound of concern that trickled into his tone, not quite sure why her well being was any concern of his... or why he had reached for her in the first place. What should it matter to an agent of the Thalmor if one clumsy Nord woman tumbled off a poorly constructed bridge?

Lorelei said nothing at first merely nodding to his question as she devoted most of her attention to the pursuit of relearning how to breathe properly. There really was nothing like the sudden feeling of falling to make one's stomach try to jump into one's throat.

"Much appreciated…"

"Justiciar Ondolemar," he offered, blinking bothersome water droplets from his eyes even as more of them dripped from the point of his flared hood and collected annoyingly on his trimmed beard.

"Lorelei, Lorelei the Curse-Bringer," she countered breathily, shifting awkwardly as she said it and lifting a hand from his to hold over her pounding heart in some attempt to quite its thump.

"I know."

"Ah yes well, I get that a lot heh." Her shaky laugh was small and nearly lost against the background of thundering waterfall beside them. "But it never hurts to be polite right?" When she straightened and looked fully into his face Ondolemar hastily inclined his head in agreement, not quite sure what else could be said. Fortunately she saved him the embarrassment of trying to make smalltalk. "Speaking of that, Justiciar Ondolemar… I think I'm safe now so you can, you know... let me go."

"Hmm? Oh I... yes… um... right," came the startled response. He did as she asked, relinquishing his hold tentatively and silently thanking the fact that the lack of light and his hood hid the red hue seeping into his face. He didn't understand it, how this inferior woman could cause him such… he didn't even understand what it was let alone how it managed to keep happening. Perhaps this was merely Fate's way of adding insult to injury. "Well I should be going. If you will excuse me," he said it more hurriedly than he'd intended but it hardly mattered. All that did matter was how swiftly and how far away from that which had suddenly become unbelievably uncomfortable he could get.

Ondolemar took care to watch his footing as he began stepping around her, thinking there was no need to tempt Fate to humiliate him further. However a gloved hand on his shoulder froze him uneasily in his tracks.

"Hey listen, I know it's probably unheard of or against one of your silly Thalmor rules but," Lorelei paused just long enough to give Cirion; who had muttered something uncouth under his breath, a scowl before shrugging and letting her hand fall away from Ondolemar's now tensed shoulder. "You should let me buy you a drink some time. To thank you proper like and all." Her hands were like nervous hummingbirds, flitting around in the space between them trying to convey whatever it was her lips refused to say.

"Perhaps… if I can find the time that is." He was struggling to regain that carefully constructed calm his position and superior breeding demanded he have, but slowly he managed to at least stop fumbling with his words. "I will let you know.. anyway take care and so on."

Back in his quarters and sprawled on the unforgiving stone slab that served as his bed, Ondolemar replayed the scene from earlier over and over again in his mind. How he had managed to save her life and then almost immediately afterwards bungle over the simplest of social niceties was quite beyond him. And no amount of groaning into his straw stuffed pillow would reveal the answer to that ridiculous mystery it seemed.

Why did this keep happening? What Aedra had he offended to earn him such a bizarre punishment? And if it was not the gods who had brought about this then what had? Had he somehow unwittingly attracted the attention of one of the Daedric princes? Were they meddling in his affairs for their own amusement? He tossed the pillow and blankets aside with a irked hand, irritated at the slightest possibility of being used in such a manner.

He was an Altmer damn it, and not only that but he was one of the best his race had to offer. He was not some lad still wet behind the ears who couldn't even make it through a single conversation with the fairer sex without his tongue turning to lead in his mouth. No, he was above all that… and he had a job to do. He rose from his bed and lit his desk lantern with a flick of his hand before settling down to finish the reports he'd begun earlier to Elenwen. If his thoughts would not let him sleep then he would throw himself into his work. Work that had nothing to do with curse bringing women or drinking with the inferior races.

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><p><strong>It had gone on like that for months,<strong> fleeting moments and snatches of conversation in passing. Ondolemar never did take her up on that offer of a drink, and each time she mentioned it or it came to his mind he dismissed it with some half formed excuse. Despite that fact he did go out of his way to loiter where he knew she was likely to be, although the dragonborn only spent a portion of her time in the city. He'd learned some time ago that she had become one of Markarth's thanes and purchased a house within the city, the stairs leading to it having become one of his most frequently traveled patrols as of late. And even those times when he'd had to deal with the dragonborn's unruly and boorish housecarl were tolerable if it meant stealing a few moments of her time for a chat. For a Nord she was surprisingly quick of wit, displaying some skill in the art of speech and refreshing conversation, all things he'd found the rest of Markarth to be sorely lacking.

Ondolemar would often dismiss his own escort for such occasions, making up meaningless tasks for his lackeys to do so that those 'chance' meetings when they did occur might be granted an iota of privacy. In a way he knew it was likely a questionable thing to do, seeing as the last thing he needed was to give his subordinates more free time than they'd already had. But trying to have casual conversation with the dragonborn with them peering over his shoulders at her made his skin crawl. There were times when he would catch them giving him sidelong glances from the corners of their amber eyes as well but he ignored it. Let them think whatever they liked, the moment they verbally questioned his authority however they would discover just how erroneous those thoughts could be.

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><p>"Sir, the festival is today. Do you still plan to attend?" Cirion, who had learned to hedge his words very carefully over the last few months, was standing in the doorway to Ondolemar's quarters with his helmet held nervously under his arm.<p>

"Of course I do you dolt, as the Justiciar for this city it is my duty to oversee all religious rites and festivals." He had paused his reading the moment Cirion had so rudely interrupted his hard won solitude. But seeing as the younger mer was just going to blather rehashed questions he heard a dozen times leading up to the festival, Ondolemar felt his gaze drifting back to the open book in his lap. "So is there a reason for this intrusion or did you plan to stand in the doorway till dusk?"

"Hm oh right, the Jarl has asked to see you before the ceremony begins… something about making sure that nothing in the prayers or rites would be seen as a violation."

Ondolemar sat his book aside and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "I swear the people of this wretched country…" His hand fell away and with a sigh he rose reluctantly to his feet. "It never ceases to amaze me… the sheer number... of layers of annoyance... is staggering." With a few moments spared to smooth the wrinkles out of the front of his robes Ondolemar was pushing his way past Cirion and heading for the mournful throne.

Two hours spent going over each and every word that would be said during the festival was in a word the epitome of tedious. Ondolemar half suspected the Jarl had dragged the process out as long as possible just to irk him, testing just how thin his patience could be stretched before it finally snapped. He knew he wasn't exactly a welcomed presence in Markarth, the people had made that quite clear very early on. And that was perfectly alright with him, he was not there to make friends or coddle a bunch of grungy humans with friendly words and kind smiles after all. To do so would be nothing but a wasted effort and nothing caused him greater ire than to feel as if someone was wasting his time.

He was making his way towards the doors, intending to catch some fresh air before heading down to oversee the evening's festivities, when an arm brought him to a swift halt.

"What is it now Thongvor? If you hadn't noticed I am in a hurry today and do not have time to dally with the likes of you." Admittedly Ondolemar's words had ended up carrying more bite than was necessary but after spending most of the day listening to Igmund drone on, Ondolemar's hold on his temper was tenuous at best. The Nord in front of him wore a look that could have curdled milk, though Ondolemar was left to wonder how much of that was due to whatever was bothering the man or the fact that Thongvor was incredibly unblessed when it came to physical appearance. Wrinkled, dirt smudged and sprouting hair seemingly everywhere but on his balding head he certainly wasn't someone Ondolemar wanted to have to look at much less talk to.

"You know damn well what it is you elf bastard! It is one thing to put up with you being in my city! But now I am being denied the right to pay respects to my ancestors in the Hall of the Dead?" There was a fine spray of spittle that punctuated every mildly slurred word Thongvor slung in his direction, bristling with blustering anger and liquid courage that made his breath something particularly foul to be subjected to. " I won't stand for it!"

"I haven't the foggiest idea what it is you are blathering about and frankly I do not care what it is either. As I said I do not have time for this and you are in my way," Ondolemar said, having to wipe flecks of Nord drool from his face as Thongvor practically foamed at the mouth. Thongvor's family had weight in this city, enough to cause the Justiciar a fair few problems if they put their minds to it. That perhaps was the only thing standing between the Nord and a bolt of lightning to the chest, something Ondolemar would have been more than happy to provide him with.

"Yeh? Well, you best make time, elf. I knows it was you what gave that damned priest of Arkay orders to lock the Hall of the Dead. Where do you get off throwing your weight around my city, eh?"

Before Ondolemar could counter that ludicrous accusation and unleash the full bite of his scathing wit and sharp tongue on the simpleton who dared to make such a claim, Thongvor did something that was most unwise. In his blind anger and drunkenness he'd grabbed the front of Ondolemar's robes and all of oblivion threatened to break loose at that moment.

Very very slowly Ondolemar glanced down to the hairy fist clutching his, cleaned just the night before, robes. Noting each speck of Nord filth that was now marring clasps he'd had Cirion polish for some stupid remark the younger mer had uttered. Behind him both of his underlings had their hands on the hilts of their elven swords, the narrow passageway not allowing for either to really reach their superior's aggressor but duty demanding they at least make a show of strength. Ondolemar raised a hand over his shoulder, motioning them to stand down for now as his eyes bored into Thongvor's bloodshot ones with unwavering intimidation.

"If you would like to keep that filthy hand of yours Thongvor I suggest you remove it from my person at once. Just because your family's activities are tolerated for now, does not mean that I will tolerate being groped at by you." His tone was as low as it could go while still being audible, dripping near tangible with venomous disgust and threat. "I had nothing to do with the closing of the Hall of the Dead, and what is more, even if I had given that order you do not have the authority to question it or anything else I do for that matter. Do I make myself clear?" Given how incredibly thick people of this city seemed to be Ondolemar gave his words some time to sink in and for Thongvor to think very carefully about his next move. If push came to shove he would fry the fool where he stood, something he was strongly considering doing anyway just to make an example out of Thongvor's ill advised bravado.

The Nord's face turned from an ugly shade of tomato red to an even less pleasing shade of purple, his lips twisting and quivering trying to form too many words at once. But Ondolemar would never get to know what Thongvor was about to scream at him.

"Let him go Thongvor and move it, your arse is taking up the whole damn hallway."

Ondolemar's eyes flicked over Thongvor's wrinkled scalp with a brow raised as this unexpected voice interrupted, spying a cloak wrapped Lorelei through the greasy wisps of Thongvor's pitiful hair. He almost didn't recognize her at first, the thick floor length cloak bundled around her a far cry from the green and tan armor he'd grown used to seeing, but the hair, eyes and voice were unmistakable. Thongvor cast one look over his shoulder and hunched his shoulders before begrudgingly letting go of Ondolemar's robes. He might have been drunk enough to pick a fight with a Thalmor agent but there wasn't enough ale in all of skyrim that could convince him that getting in a shouting match with the dovahkiin was a wise choice.

Of course that didn't stop Thongvor from muttering something insulting and vulgar as he brushed past her, only to fume further still when she made a hand gesture that was if anything impolite. With Thongvor dealt with Lorelei turned her attention to Ondolemar with one of her signature unconscious half smiles.

"You can't take him serious you know, everything he says is one half spit and one half hot air." Her tone was cheerful and edged with a whisper of excitement as she closed the distance between them and then stood on her toes to give a wave to the two behind him. She might have been jovial but Ondolemar was not as amused.

"I am aware," he muttered crossing his arms over his chest, "I also don't need assistance when it comes to dealing with such brutes."

"Now now no need to huff at me," she laughed, refusing to let his sour mood spoil her own. "Besides who said I was helping you eh? Who's to say I wasn't helping save a fellow Nord from making a fatal mistake hm? Oh don't feign surprise, I may be no mage but I know the start of a spark spell when I see one. See enough of them whizz past your nose and you begin to pick up on the subtleties." She waved the explanation off with a hand fluffing the air as the other held the cloak she wore closed tight. Not wishing to spend the next hour or so arguing with her on all the reasons why he didn't believe her, Ondolemar instead focused his attention elsewhere.

"Is it cold enough out there to warrant that?" he asked, gesturing towards the fur lined cloak with a brow raised. Early spring this far north was always bitterly cold and bordering on freezing even in the Reach but he'd never seen Lorelei bundled up like that. He'd half believed the woman was immune to the dismal cold entirely, rather than simply resistant like her kin.

"Hm? Oh this? Nah it's pretty warm out right now but Hamal said she'd string me up by the ears if I let anyone see the costumes for tonight before the performance." She shrugged, though most of the gesture was lost under the heavy fabric, before flashing him a grin. "Although I am tempted to anyway, even if it might earn me ears as pointed at yours. Anyway I have to talk to Calcelmo about something right quick before all the fun starts so I'll see you at the festival." She gave his shoulder a friendly pat before nudging her way between his guards and heading off, once more leaving him with more questions than she'd ever give him answers for. It was something Ondolemar had grown accustomed to and he gave her a wave in return before going his own way.

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><p>The streets of Markarth were dressed for the occasion and teeming with people from all over the hold, making the walk from Understone Keep to the platform he was to be seat at slow going to say the least. Stands, piled high with honeyed breads and fruit filled tarts, eating up space on paths that had been narrow to begin with while enthusiastic merrymakers already partially sloshed bumbled into one another to the tune of torrents of shrill laughter. All in all it was a tad too unrefined for Ondolemar's tastes. Even if the swinging painted lanterns strung above it all vastly improved the normally dreary city it was nothing compared to the festivals he'd known as a child back in Summerset.<p>

As soon as Ondolemar, Igmund, Igmund's housecarl Faleen and his steward Raerek were seated upon the flower strewn platform, Dibella's priestess Hamal began the rites, silencing the crowd with the roar of a gold edged horn.

"People of Markarth! Children of Nirn and blessed by our matron of beauty and passion!" For her age Hamal had an impressive set of lungs all things considered, her voice carrying with ease to all gathered around her. "Tonight we honor the Goddess of Beauty, she who brings her blessings of grace with generous arms and who inspires the artist to make the world a more wondrous place to live." There was a general murmur of agreement from the crowd as she went on. "Tonight we will drink and we will feast! We will dance and we will love! So open your minds! Open your hearts! And let the spirit of our matron fill you!"

From there Hamal led a prayer to all eight divines, pausing only briefly where Talos' name would have normally been while Ondolemar's smoldering gaze bored uncomfortably into her back. After that there was a short ceremony relating to flowers or something that barely maintained Ondolemar's interests, being of purely nordic tradition and therefore unworthy of his notice. And finally a ritual performance by those deemed beautiful enough to perform Dibella's sacred dance…

Which seemed to translate as an excuse to get every young woman in the hold to don what could hardly be called clothing and have them twirl around like frolicking nymphs. Something which the crowds seemed to appreciate as each dancer threw off their thick cloaks one by one. Ondolemar could care less about a bunch of pale human females jumping around to barbaric music and spent those first few moments of the performance looking for a specific face among the crowd. But the woman he was looking for wasn't there among those watching, much to his bemusement and then immediate shock as a stir of whistles from the crowd brought his gaze back to the dance and the figure that had garnered such a reaction.

Not once before then had Ondolemar considered the dragonborn to be so graceful. True she was lithe; well as lithe as a non-mer could be, he'd grant her that much. But with the bulk of her armor generally obscuring the contours of her body from sight he'd never had quite the unimpeded view he had now. The silk and sheer gauze she wore acted less like clothing and more as if they were creatures spun from color and smoke. They floating languidly when she stood still and streamed in her wake when she moved. On the other dancers the same costume looked vulgar and lewd but on her it was perfection in motion. It wrapped around her lovingly, draped and accentuating as it revealed just enough to keep his gaze fixed to her swaying form and yet concealed enough to leave him wanting. She was a chimera of soft curves and taut muscle, those cobalt blue eyes sparkling with drink and happiness in ways he'd never seen before.

An errant thought drifted over his mind's eye, the urge to secret her away to his quarters and tenderly untie each and every one of the shawls from her so that the only things embracing her were his impassioned arms. Far from the streets with their streaming banners and carousing crowds that stood between himself and the woman he couldn't take his eyes off of. Far from the pounding drums and the slightly out of time lutes, far far away from all of it.

Of course the moment he realized what he was imagining he balked at the strength and sordidness of urge. How could he even consider such licentious acts with a Nord? It was unheard of, unthinkable and strictly unmoral.

_'It must be the festival,'_ his reason hastened,_ 'yes, the spirit of Dibella they're calling up must be contagious or something. She is after all something of a warm blooded goddess.'_ Even if that explanation sounded flimsy at first the alternative was far too ridiculous for him to consider and far more fatal a sickness to be stricken by.

The dance ended with a crescendo of music and chanting before the dancers bowed to the calls of the crowd. Blooms of all kinds were thrown until it seemed as if it were raining petals down on them. And they, now filled with the spirit of their goddess, invited the crowd to join them until all who were present had felt that divine passion in their chest.

To his right Igmund nudged him with an elbow before gesturing outward with a hand.

"So what do you think? Does that adhere to the rules enough for you?"

"It will do I suppose," Ondolemar replied tersely, not quite sure what it was with Nords and their need to invade his personal space. "I take it the ceremony part is over then?"

"Aye, the rest of the night is just celebration and revelry."

"Then I will take my leave…"

"So soon? Not going to enjoy yourself even a jot?"

"No, this is not exactly what I would consider enjoyable. Now if you will excuse me." Ondolemar stood before Igmund had a chance to object, heading down off the platform with decidedly un-celebratory steps.

The cavorting swell of people was daunting to say the least, and his skin crawled each time someone's body collided carelessly with his own. It was bad enough they were touching him, far worse that they were impeding his exit and his soldiers were no where in sight. Probably for the best as the face Cirion had made when the dancing began had been anything but fitting of a fellow Altmer. As Ondolemar managed to push through a throng of yet more drunks a tug on his hand spun him in place, bringing him face to face with a very flushed and smiling Lorelei.

He would never know what was running through her mind in that moment, with his hand caught in hers and the crowds milling around them. Whether the mead that flowed from dozens of tapped casks had gone to her head or if he was merely the victim of a cruel whim, she never the less did the unthinkable. Pushed together by the crush of others and tipsy from wine and mead Lorelei's body pressed into Ondolemar's own, her hands coming up to tenderly clasp his face as her lips parted his.

_'She tastes like honey and lavender,'_ the small voice in the back of his skull observed as the rest of his thoughts were utterly obliterated by shock. He had no idea what was happening, or better yet why it was happening. His eyes, which had gone wide at first, closed seemingly of their own accord. And before he even realized it his hands were splayed over the gracious curve of her hips, feeling the warmth that radiated through the thin silk that covered them. She seemed to take that as an invitation because she parted his lips further with a pink tongue that sent shivers unbidden down his spine.

It was over in seconds, the crowds pushing them apart as suddenly as it had brought them together and swallowing her back into their midst with only the trill of her laughter hanging in the space between.

* * *

><p>Ugh long chapter is long, sorry about that but there was a lot of ground that needed to be covered to set up for chapters yet to come. Anyway seeing as I normally don't do sappy happy bits right (or really at all for that matter), I would love you guys forever if you could let me know whether this works or not in a review or private message.<p> 


	3. Avarice: All I Ask of You

The spring rain comes down in sheets of liquid grey, drawing delicate designs all along the window pane. He wipes at the fog his breath leaves on the glass absent mindedly, wanting only for his view to be unhindered as the rain drowns everything beyond his solitary tower of stone. He is untouchable here, a silent silhouette sent to observe and nothing more. It is preferable this way, any interference would hinder him and company of another is simply a luxury he cannot afford. He knows this is how it must be, that he has no choice in the the matter is not even a question. Still he wonders what it would be like to experience things from the other side of the glass.

The sky beyond his reach darkens gradually, a languid night blanketing everything in sight. The window becomes a mirror then, painting his reflection in sharp relief. With sluggish disinterest, he takes stock of his own features as they become more pronounced against the atramentous glass. The curve of his cheek is high and appears sharp enough to cut a careless hand while the hook of his nose sits just above the somber lines of his mouth. Most of his features are sharp in this fashion, the stronger and clearer the facial structure the more highly the appearance is praised in his culture. A jutting chin, a severe jaw-line and brows with a high arc, all things that show his heritage and prestigious lineage. All features past from father to son.

Only his eyes differ, although they are cast from a similar amber color, they lack the harshness…  
>The slant is gentler, the shape wider and the color a shade just this side of the summer sun. He has gone to great lengths to make up for what his eyes lack in ruthlessness, trimming his beard to accentuate the point of his chin and keeping his hair cropped short to show off the height of his jaw. He is proud of those features and what they mean, particularly to others of his kin. He would never be mistaken for the common rabble… then again he will never get the chance to test that theory. He will never be able to walk as one of them, never have the boon of simpler worries and cares.<p>

"It looks cold out there…" Her voice breaks the stillness with ripples of tender tones.

"It always does." His words usher forth in the guise of a sigh just as her satin draped arms creep up over his shoulders, to enfold him in the warmth that is her company. His senses alight with the thrill of it, stirring from some place deep within his core. She makes him feel alive, that much he can't deny regardless of how much he wishes it wasn't so.

"We could always keep each other warm if you'd be so inclined." She speaks in flavors of temptation, a siren's soothing song that whispers along his stiffening spine.

"If they knew… if they saw us…" He wants to resist, to steel himself against her seduction. But her every curve is pressed against the line of his back, the rise and fall of her chest subverting his every defense. There is so little separating them as they stand in front of the floor length window. Layers of pointless clothing, mere obstacles he could strip away in a matter of seconds if only he would stop resisting.

"Why do you fight this? struggling against what you know you desire? If you do not want me then just the say the word and I will leave you to your solitude." She withdraws her hands and her warmth as she turns from him to make good on her words. It feels as if she has reached inside of him and gripped his very heart, pulling it still beating from him with each step she takes in the opposite direction. Panic claims his pulse, riding it through his every vein as the eyes of his reflection widen with it. They stare after her in pleading silence as pain floods his chest and squeezes his lungs.

"Please don't go and don't be angry with me," He'd do anything to cease that ache crawling up his throat, but to give in to her now might cost him more than simply his heart. "You have to understand it isn't right… to do so would mean sacrificing everything I have."

She stops mid stride, the sweep of her sun soaked hair falling to the side as she glances back over her shoulder. She waits for a moment, considering what he has said and the ache in his chest intensifies by a measure of ten. His knees buckle beneath it's crippling grasp, his hands catching against the window as he struggles to remain standing.

"Please…" He is begging, a thing he has not done since he was a child.

"Is it so hard? All you have to do is submit and I will be yours." The feather light footfalls she makes flood him with relief, and when he finds the strength to straight up once more he turns to face her.

"You do not even know what you are asking of me."

When her words do not sway him she switches tactics, pulling him into the greediest of kisses. A thing of heat and probing tongues it bears the euphoria of sweet intoxication. Her hands are roaming his body before he can even muster the will to beg her to stop, slipping beneath his shirt and tracing patterns along the hem of his breeches with delicate nail-tips. That is all it takes to shatter his resistance, he succombs to her charms knowing it will likely be the death of him.

In his mind his thoughts scream how wrong it is but with her smooth skin beneath his trembling fingers he knows nothing has ever felt this right.

When the kiss breaks and they surface for air with aching lungs she smiles that smile that could break a thousand hearts just like his.

"Love me, hold me, crave me… that is all I am asking of you."

His eyes close as he resigns himself to that which he knows he can not escape. Her passion and his yearning for it has become a near tangible ocean and it will swallow him whole regardless of how hard he kicks.

"Say you will you will be mine and I will do anything you ask of me." It is an admission to her and to himself.

"Is that so?" Like a sour note from a snapped harp string the change of voice is cutting and cruel. He need only open his eyes to see what has caused such a disturbance, although the moment he does so is the exact moment he wishes he hadn't. For there, inches from his horror stricken face, is the visage of Elenwen in all her sinister glory. The expression she wears oozes contempt and approaching retribution while the hands on his face crackle with soon to be spent magicka. "How dare you dishonor the Dominion this way."

He tries to pull away, to run from the coming storm, but there is no where to go for every direction is blocked by a golden leering face. The glass cracks and shatters outwards into the void beyond. He follows soon after with the jagged shards raining down from above. In the gaping hole where once the window had been Elenwen's fury stands, casting bolt after blinding blue bolt down at him even as the earth rushes up to meet him.

* * *

><p>Ondolemar woke with a start and the feeling of his back hitting the floor. Around him the familiar sight of his room slowly came into focus, albeit upside down.<p>

'"Just a nightmare." Sure he could tell himself that, but according to the adrenaline thrumming through his body, to call it just a nightmare was akin to saying a broadsword was just a knife. How long had he been asleep? He couldn't be sure, given the events that had transpired the night before there were many things he wasn't sure of anymore. What was he doing thinking of her and in that way no less?

_'__Then again it's not my fault… I'm not the one who invaded her personal space… not the one who decided to…'_ he wiped a clammy hand over his eyes and just laid there in the tangle of blankets. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to admit what it made him think of or feel every time his thoughts strayed to it. What was he supposed to do or think for that matter? It had seemingly come out of nowhere. _'She does that a lot it seems,'_ his thoughts chimed and he let out a groan before rubbing at his eyes once more. Before last night he would have hesitated to even call them friends, there was even a time when he'd consider her to be nothing short of infuriating. Sure the conversations were nice, and she did seem to be the only person in the city worth talking to, but that hardly hinted at anything more.

_'__Have I just not noticed? All those times we spoke was she holding this back from me?'_ If she had been, than he could hardly blame her. It would be political suicide for him to show interest in her to be sure, but he didn't even want to consider what her people might do to her if they suspected she had feelings for an Altmer… and an agent of the Thalmor at that. But if she was worried about others knowing, then she had certainly picked a rotten opportunity to make her feelings known to him. There had been near a hundred people at the festival last night and he was willing to bet at least a dozen or so had witnessed that tender moment they'd shared. '_Then again how many of them are even going to recall what they did last night? Let alone something they might have seen given the amount of alcohol that was flowing.' _

It was a fair enough point, and perhaps alcohol had played a part in Lorelei's actions as well. After all liquor had a way of lowering inhibitions something fierce, and under the guise of being an avatar for Dibella, she probably could have kissed anyone without anyone batting an eye at it. _'But she didn't just kiss anyone now did she?'_

The cold seeping through his thin night clothes was oddly comforting, his own skin somewhat fevered and tingling from the nightmare he'd just had. However he couldn't lay on the floor forever, regardless of how exhausted his limbs suddenly felt. No, he needed to nip this in the bud as soon as possible. He stood hastily and shook himself as if the motion could dislodge all of his troublesome thoughts. Afterwards he quickly washed and was about to throw on his robes when he realized they still held the scent of her from last night. He settled for a plain blue tunic and dark brown breeches instead and quickly headed out, half expecting the First Emissary to be laying in wait around every corner. She wasn't of course but that didn't stop his nerves from jumping at every noise.

Cirion and his fellow guard were both passed out in the hallway and Ondolemar caught the distinct whiff of wine as he gingerly stepped around them. Any other day his boot would have found their backsides. But not today, he couldn't have them along for the visit he was about to make and he just didn't have time to make up some excuse for why they weren't to accompany him.

The sun was just peeking over the walls as he exited the keep, which implied that he had overslept. But given the hush that hung in the air, it seemed as if he was the only being actually awake for now. Sure there were still guards leaning along rail or wall, but as he swept past them he could have swore he heard each one of them snoring behind their helmets. They weren't the only ones who hadn't managed to make it back to their beds either, as most of the streets were littered with empty bottles, torn streamers and slumbering people laying in all manners of awkward positions. Ondolemar's lips twitched from a look of contempt to a snide smirk when he noted that some of them where going to wake up next to people who were certainly not their wives or husbands. He was also relieved to see that Lorelei was not among them either as he hurried along.

He'd taken the long way around up to Vlindrel Hall, and he was a tad winded once he started knocking on Lorelei's front door. At first there was no answer, so he pounded a little louder and was finally rewarded with the sound of multiple locks and bolts being slid back. But it was not Lorelei's cheerful face that greeted the Altmer, rather a very grumpy looking and hungover Argis.

"Do you have any idea of what time it is elf? What do you want?"

"I'm here to speak with your mistress and that is all you need to know. Now go and fetch her at once." Ondolemar was in no mood to waste time with niceties, especially when he hadn't been offered any. Argis on the other hand, was in no mood to take orders, especially from an elf. With his arms coming up to rest imposingly over his chest, Argis went from being simply displeased to downright defiant. Using his body as something like a breathing blockade he stared down his nose at Ondolemar.

"And what are you going to do if I refuse and tell you exactly where you can stuff those demands of yours, hm?"

"Step out here and you may just find out…" Ondolemar countered, he might have been without his guards and robes but he'd be damned if he'd back down from someone so obviously beneath him. "Of course, you'll only live long enough to regret it if you do."

"Those are some bold words coming from someone who is unarmed." Argis looked like he was on the verge of taking that first step outside of the door and the air began to tense between them.

"You're a bigger fool than I first thought if you think for even a moment that I am truly unarmed." In truth Ondolemar had forgotten the dagger he normally kept on his person, it and most of his usual gear tucked neatly with his robes back at the keep. Of course he still had his magic and with his nerves as frayed as they were that morning he doubted Argis knew that his threat was far from empty.

"Argis what is it? Who's at the door?" Lorelei's voice carried down the hall just before her face peeked bleary eyed around the bulk of her housecarl. When she saw who it was her expression turned to one of bemusement and she fell silent.

"I know it is impolite to just drop by unannounced, but um…" Ondolemar tried to explain as quickly as his suddenly lead tongue would allow. "But there were some things I wished to discuss with you."

Lorelei's drowsy eyes narrowed at that, her thin brows drawing together and for a moment Ondolemar found it very difficult to breathe. But her face soon relaxed and a smile slid into place as she stepped around Argis much to the Nord's objection. Lorelei simply waved him off and Ondolemar was more than pleased to see him retreat further into the house. Once alone Lorelei leaned her shoulder against the door frame with a hand resting along the edge of the actual door, all while stifling a yawn. It was clear she'd just be roused from her bed and that she hadn't bothered to get fully dressed before seeing what the commotion was about. She was wearing a pair of doeskin leggings, a man's over-sized undershirt and nothing else… which was very distracting as Ondolemar tried to keep his gaze on her face and not the cut of her shirt's collar. He had, after all, come to straighten her out, not to stare at her feminine attributes.

"Ondolemar… it's good to see you and all but, do you have any idea what time it is?"

"It is at least mid morning," he answered even though the question had been some what rhetorical. "Forgive me I didn't know you were prone to rising later in the day."

Lorelei leaned slowly forward and for a split second Ondolemar thought she was going for a repeat of the night before. However she turned her head and instead squinted at the sun.

"I don't… well not normally," she said with a shrug as she straightened once more. "Anyway, you said there was something you wanted to talk about, yeh?"

"Uh yes I wanted to…" It was at that moment that his stomach interrupted, reminding him that, not only had he skipped breakfast in his rush that morning but that he also hadn't really eaten anything the night before. It's snarling was beyond embarrassing, prompting Lorelei to smirk softly at the fact that his cheeks had blushed a lovely shade of scarlet at the sound.

"Well whatever it is we can talk about it inside. Preferably over some sweet rolls or something, sound fair enough?" She held the door open for him and he couldn't bring himself to refuse.

Ondolemar had never actually seen the inside of Vlindrel Hall, and as Lorelei led him through the main entrance way and into the house proper, he couldn't keep his eyes from roaming. It was fairly large as far as homes in Markarth went, with a long dining table in the center of the main space and a few doors leading to all the other rooms. To his right was a fireplace with a low burning fire and a couple of smaller tables complete with chairs to either side. Straight ahead was a closed door which Argis was leaning against and to the left of that some shelving and counters with an open door leading into what he guessed was a trophy room of some sort. Beyond that was some kind of kitchen and a couple of bookshelves forming a quaint reading nook. Every bit of available shelving was piled high with all manner of strange things, and although it was all quite tidy, it still looked incredibly cluttered.

Lorelei gestured for him to make himself at home and walked towards the closed doors Argis was guarding like a suspicious hound. Argis said something under his breath when she approached which she waved off before asking him to head down to the inn to see if she had any letters waiting. He seemed reluctant at first, and Ondolemar could feel Argis' eyes burning into his back as the mer moved casually around the room. But with a bit of prodding from Lorelei, Argis begrudgingly left the two alone, though he made sure to slam the door extra hard as he left.

"Don't mind Argis, he's not much of a morning man if you catch my drift."

Ondolemar inclined his head to signal that he did, even though he knew that was not the reason the Nord was acting riled.

"Anyway, feel free to look around while I change into something more appropriate, and then we can eat and talk." She disappeared behind the closed doors then and Ondolemar heard a lock click into place immediately afterwards. A gesture which he thought was completely uncalled for. He wasn't one of the boorish brutes she normally had to deal with, he would never be so crass or perverse as to try and watch her change clothing. Feeling decidedly defensive all of a sudden, Ondolemar focused on exploring his surroundings and not on Lorelei's implied lack of trust in him.

As was to be expected, he found himself drawn to what he'd mistakenly thought was the trophy room. In reality it was meant to be used for enchanting, but the rune inscribed table used for that kind of craft looked like it had never been touched. The walls were cluttered with rows of weapons racks, and the assortment of weapons hanging from them had him arching a brow more and more. Staves made from materials he didn't even recognize, swords and daggers with gleaming edges, maces and hammers that must have weighed as much as a medium sized child, all strapped and stacked in their proper places.

He looked them over one by one until his gaze settled on a staff carved in the shape of a rose. It was curious looking piece, the wood stained to mimic the colors of petal, stem and thorn. Without a thought he ran a finger along one of the carefully shaped petals at its top, admiring the craftsmanship and he was about to pick it up to further admire it when Lorelei's hand quickly covered his.

"Best not to meddle with that one, I'd rather not have a scamp or something worse running round my house if you don't mind." Noting his bewildered expression she continued. "That's Sanguine's Rose, if you aren't careful while handling it… well let's just say it can make quite the mess." She was wearing her armor again, with the exception of the gauntlets which she had in her free hand.

"I'm not a novice Lorelei, I know how to handle things with the proper care." The implication that she thought he would be careless with her things stung somewhat and his expression showed it, even though it was hard to do so when she was so terribly close to him.

"I don't doubt that you do, but still, when it comes to that thing I'd rather not tempt the Fates."

Ondolemar let his hand fall away from the staff, but not before accidentally snagging his thumb on one of the thorns. Hissing at the sudden pain, he stuck the injured digit in his mouth instinctively. Sucking on it in order to stop the bleeding. Admittedly it was not the most stoic of reactions, but for what amounted to a splinter jab, it had stung far more than it ought have.

"See what I mean? Damn thing is naught but trouble." To add insult to injury, Lorelei had grabbed his pricked hand like a admonishing nanny, and was now looking at the tiny puncture as it welled liquid red.

"If you don't like it then why do you keep it?" Ondolemar snapped. The question he really wanted to ask was what she was doing with a daedric artifact in the first place. However he suspected he didn't really want to know the answer to that one. Lorelei cast one look at the offending artifact and shook her head vehemently.

"After what I went through to get it? It's going to stay right there until the day I die." She let go of his hand now that she was sure he would survive the minuscule prick. "Most of the things in here I don't ever intend to let see the light of day. Like that one," she said pointing to another staff. It was wrapped in brown leather cord with what looked liked two avian skulls crowned by hawk feathers. "I got that one after helping a hagraven retake her tower from her sister. And that one," turning towards a ebony katana with a wicked edge. "Actually enjoys stealing life from those it slays."

"Are you implying you keep things just so others will not use them?"

"That's not it, but it doesn't really matter. Let's just eat and forget about it alright?" She didn't give him a chance to argue, walking away with an attitude that said only one thing, '_drop the subject.'_ Which he did, following her towards the table and taking a seat opposite her, only after she had seated herself.

The table was set with an assortment of food, mostly slices of candied fruits and baked pastries with a pitcher of spring water to round off the spread. They ate in refined silence, the tension from earlier slowly dissipating into something that was simply awkward. Ondolemar wanted to break it, but after being snapped at earlier, and feeling like the morning had gotten off to an already rotten start, he didn't dare. The last thing he needed was to make a bigger mess of things by bringing up the subject that had brought him here in the first place. Fortunately, Lorelei wasn't the type to take a meal in a foul mood, or silence either for that matter.

"So did you enjoy the festival at least?" she asked before popping another bit of sugar covered fruit in her mouth. Of course Ondolemar wished she'd picked any other subject to discuss… having hoped he could ease into that one gradually and with luck reach some type of mutual understanding without wounding anyone's feelings in the process.

"It was rather… illuminating you could say," he answered tentatively, fidgeting with his napkin as he suddenly needed something for his hands to do.

"Kinda curious way to put it, but yes, I guess it was. Though I noticed you left pretty early on, were you not feeling well or something?"

_'__Or something is right,, and you know exactly what that something was too.'_ his thoughts quipped. Out loud his wording was a tad more subtle. " No I simply had a lot on my mind that I needed to think over is all."

"Oh… I see. Well that's a pity, you missed out on a lot of revelry."

"That's alright, I had more than enough before I left."

"Glad to hear you enjoyed yourself then. Which reminds me… I've meant to tell you something last night but never got the chance." Her tone was so utterly casual and yet somehow managed to seem coy at the same time. Ondolemar could scarcely breathe as he waited for that metaphorical hammer to fall, wondering if he even had the strength of will to save himself from its blow. "I know this may come as a surprise and maybe I'm out of line to even say it but…" She, was struggling to find the words and he, was struggling to hear her over the sound of his own thudding heart. " but, um, I wanted to let you know I am really …"

The sound of the door slamming open followed by Argis' heavy footfalls cut the conversation short as surely as a headsman's ax. Lorelei fell silent immediately at the sight of him, and it was as if that conversation had never happened, what ever she'd been on the verge of saying dying on her lips. Unaware that he was interrupting... or perhaps knowing and simply not caring... Argis walked over to the table and set a pile of letters down neatly in front of her. After which he moved to hover behind her chair so that he could glare at Ondolemar without his thane seeing him. If looks could kill, then both males would have been stricken down in an instant. As it was though, they had to settle for exchanging unkind looks over the top of Lorelei's head.

"Argis would you take a seat already? It's annoying when it feels like someone is breathing down my neck." If Lorelei knew the two of them were having a glaring contest she made no mention of it, and just shoved a bowl of berries in Argis' direction when he sat down like she'd asked. She then set the letters aside and resumed eating, mumbling something about how meals were times for enjoying food not worrying over the world.

Seeing as Lorelei wasn't going to finish whatever it was she'd planned to say, and Ondolemar himself wasn't going to broach the subject in front of others, the mer abruptly excused himself.

"I should be going. Thank you kindly for the meal, it was very nice." It was at best a half truth, for while he did enjoy her company greatly, things hadn't quite gone as he'd planned. Then again he wasn't really sure what he'd expected to happen, and perhaps it was better that the subject had been dropped for now. After all, words were like cuts, they couldn't be taken back once they'd taken form.

Lorelei accompanied him to the door, something unsaid hovering just behind her eyes as he stepped out onto the landing beyond the first few steps.

"Perhaps we can do this another time, I do rather enjoy your company," he said, hoping she would read between the lines. "Although I do find it curious that you eat breakfast in your armor." He was trying to lighten the mood, hoping for even a glimmer of her smile to come back into her drawn face.

"Yeh, well I normally don't get dressed until after I've eaten, but I figured that would have been a tad too informal while I had a guest. That and I have some errands to run today and didn't want to have to change again just to do them," she explained with a slight smile that tugged into a smirk as she went on. "Speaking of attire, I almost didn't recognize you earlier without your robes or hood."

"I left in a hurry this morning, so I had to settle for something simpler…"

"Well at any rate, it's a nice change, makes you look a lot less formal."

"My work demands much from me… I don't get many opportunities to be informal."

"I noticed that last night, but you shouldn't push yourself so hard. Trust me, a little fun now and then goes a long way." There was a note of concern in those first few words but it had turned to something casually sly by the end.

"That may be so, but, there doesn't seem to be much in this city which I would consider fun." Below them people were starting to begin their daily routines, albeit much later than they normally would have and Ondolemar knew he couldn't dally much longer.

"Maybe you just aren't looking in the right places then…" She was quick with a laugh, but he knew it was just a cover for the suggestion hidden in her words.

"Perhaps, " he said licking at suddenly dry lips, "I would be open to the idea if you'd be inclined." It was risky... but he had to know if she was implying what he assumed she was implying.

"Inclined for what?"

"Inclined to show me where the right places are." There was no way she could possibly miss what he was actually asking, of that he was quite certain. As if she could read his very mind, Lorelei's smile broaden and she said what he had hoped she would.

"Ah, sure, that sounds lovely. And my door is always open."

* * *

><p>'it never really was a question I had to ask was it? That she was harboring feelings for me.'<p>

_'Yet I wanted to ask, there was so much to be unsure of… so much I am still unsure of.'_

When I recall that morning… the morning after that night… I'm astounded by the things I first missed. The way she came to the door in such loose clothing, how could I not see what she intended? What that implied? She said without words that she didn't mind my seeing her in a state of undress, and her changing into her armor was just a formality.'

_'But she locked the door behind her.'_

'Clearly out of habit and nothing more. Given who she lives with, it would have been more alarming if she hadn't done it. I was wrong to assume she did it because she didn't trust me. For if she didn't trust me, why would she let me explore the rest of her home? Why would she give me an open invitation to return whenever I pleased?'

_'Perhaps she just wants an ally within the Thalmor.'_

'Nonsense, she isn't like the people I am used to dealing with. She doesn't care about politics, every time I bring it up she changes the subject, normally to food of all things.'

_'Maybe she is just watching her step, maybe she has something to hide.'_

'Ridiculous, she isn't the type to mince words or sugar coat for another's benefit. That's part of why I wished to get to know her in the first place remember? From the moment we met she's been honest which is more than I can say for everyone else.'

_'But honesty could be the biggest weakness of all. If anyone else were to know… if she were to tell anyone.'_

'She wouldn't do that. I have no reason to even think she would, she's been nothing but discreet so far. She hasn't even mentioned it when we are alone together, though she makes it more than clear enough with those light touches and long glances. And even those are done in such a way that any witnesses wouldn't know what they are seeing. '

_'But how do I feel about her?"_

'How am I supposed to feel? It is as if she is beneath my very skin. When I close my eyes, it is her I see. It feels as if my desires are being twisted by some magic charm, like a witch's spell that saps my will to resist.'

_'But it feels so...'_

'But it feels so very nice.'

_'It could cost me everything,'_

'if she agreed to do everything I asked… then I could…."

_"If she were to submit to me, then we could have a life together.'_

'Perhaps if I tell her I know… somewhere private where no one will over hear us. If I just show her that I am willing to accept her affections… maybe she will...'

_'But the cultural differences we'd have to overcome!'_

'Perhaps that is what is keeping her from being more bold.'

'What if I show her the finer side of Aldmeri society?'

'Then she is sure to see, the obvious choice… Is me.'

* * *

><p>"Stupid dog," Ondolemar said shooing at the offending, and slobbering, mutt with a hand. "Be gone with you."It was bad enough having to smell the wretched creature while he was trying to eat much less having to wipe dog drool off his robes while the beast begged for his food. The dog turned its large brown eyes upwards, trying its hardest to look pitiful and in need of a few choice table scraps. An effort that was in utter vain as Ondolemar was having none of it today. He had learn to tolerate the Jarl's hounds only because they belonged to the J<em>arl,<em> but that didn't stop him from wishing they were better trained and it certainly didn't endear them to him in any fashion.

Sensing that it wasn't going to get anything besides harsh words from the dining Altmer, the dog decided to spite him by leaping up, placing its hand sized paws right into his meal, which upset most of it into his lap, and then snatching his gloves right off the table. Or rather he thought the dog was doing it to spite him, seeing as it had not only stolen his gloves but dumped piping hot soup on him, which was in a word, very unpleasant.

Needless to say Ondolemar leapt from his seat and tried to both, see to his now uncomfortably hot lower region, and decide which spell to throw at the dog.

"That is the final straw you daedra spawned abomination! Voada! Would you kindly do something about this damned dog before I do it for you."

Of course, the aforementioned Voada had no intention of doing anything about the dog now playfully jumping about with a pair of Thalmor gloves flopping around in its mouth, as she was enjoying the show a tad too much. But luckily for Ondolemar, she wasn't the only one who knew how to handle boisterous animals.

"Sit boy."

He didn't have to see her to know who had spoken, he could paint a picture from her voice alone, and sure enough a second or so later Lorelei crested the stairs. The dog did as she told it, sweeping it's tail joyously over the floor as she walked over and gave its shaggy head a pat.

"Good boy, now give me the gloves." Again it did as she asked, albeit more reluctantly this time. With the drool covered gloves now in hand Lorelei gave the dog friendly scratch behind the ears before heading over to where Ondolemar stood. She handed them to him and gingerly he accepted them with a muttered 'thank you'.

"You're welcome but I wonder if I might have a word? Alone if that's at all possible.'


End file.
